From Afar
by TrueEnough
Summary: Post CotW. Fraser and Ray spend 2 weeks in Inuvik before Ray heads back to Chicago. Fraser's POV.


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From Afar

© Summer 2002 TrueEnough

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Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski.

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Summary: Post CotW. Fraser and Ray spend two weeks in Inuvik before Ray heads back to Chicago. Fraser's POV.

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Rated: R with NC-17 aspirations.

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Spoilers: Allusions made to Letting Go, Burning Down the House, Asylum, Likely Story, Odds, Mountie On the Bounty, Dead Men Don't Throw Rice, Hunting Season, Call of the Wild.

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Warnings: First time author. Unbeta-ed only because I was too nervous to ask anyone.

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Disclaimer: I humbly disclaim any ownership or profit but I thank you sincerely for all of the 3rd and 4th season subtext. 

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Author's Notes: Early last year I finally bought a decent computer. Shortly thereafter I read a newspaper article that seemed to be shaking it's head over something called slash fiction. Hmm. I logged on, found several wonderful authors who illuminated two of my all time favorite characters and I've been late to work ever since. Thank you.

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Feedback welcomed at: trueenough@msn.com

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Why should I be afraid?

I belong to you.

~~A Thin Red Line~~

Long before I had collected enough evidence to prove that Ray Kowalski was not, in fact, the real Ray Vecchio I had constructed an elaborate labyrinth around myself that I was sure no one would be able to navigate through. I am chagrined to admit that once I convinced myself that I was only doing others a favor by keeping them at a distance, I took a certain perverse pride in that so few made it through the sand traps of procedure and politeness that left most people only looking for a way out. What I never anticipated was someone like Ray who would not bother trying one path and then another but would quite simply, and rather loudly, kick each wall down in a straight path to everything I feared and hoped for.

Single-minded. Unstoppable. Beautiful.

Yes Ray, I find you attractive. Not in any conventional way and sometimes in ways that are beyond my understanding - but when I see something rare and breathtaking I can't help but to want to name it properly, therefore, he is beautiful. But I do not love him for his beauty as obvious as it is to me. More often than not I find my own inner bell responding to his more intangible qualities such as his vulnerability, his spirit and his temper.

He has disarmed me with his tough guy up and down walk that suddenly morphs into a boxer's footwork and then into a rumba only to burst through my front door and fall at my feet in search of asylum. He is both fluid and jittery like the ripples on a deep lake when a stone like myself has been tossed into it.

It is hard for me to remember the day that we met without a sense of disorientation, a sense of frustration and a kind of grief. I walked into the barely controlled chaos of the 27th precinct after standing in the charred remains of my home with my senses tilted towards Ray Vecchio. I listened for the sound of his voice and scanned the hallways and rooms for the snap and sheen of his clothes and nothing responded. I started calling out his name trying not to let the panic sound through me and that is when I met Ray Kowalski. His quick embrace of my unyielding form was our introduction.

I came to miss Ray Vecchio with an ache and a peevishness that only someone who makes few friends can understand. I knew that he was doing his duty and was proud of him for it and yet I could not shake the feeling of being left behind. I ran his last phone call to me through my head time and again and I know he did his best to prepare me for his absence; I know he tried to tell me that he is my devoted friend, as I am his, and still, I grieved.

I had not had a friendship like that since Innusiq and it's presence and strength, at a time in my life when I had thought devoted friendship was only something children could have and believe in, both amazed and warmed me. As much as I took comfort in his companionship, I was delighted that we could disagree - even take a bullet - and still be friends. These are impossible qualities to ask for and I'm not sure if I would of known that I needed that kind of all or nothing rough exchange, that kind of intimacy. In many ways I was lost in my own maze.

There is a tendency to compare one Ray with the other. It is a mistake that I made early on and was wise enough not to repeat. Despite their similar names and muddled identities, despite their shared sense of loyalty and bravery, they are well and truly their own entity. For me, the greatest distinction lies in the fact that I love my dear friend Ray Vecchio but I've fallen in love with Ray Kowalski. 

Each time I admit this fact to myself I half expect my dad to pop up somewhere, brandishing his convoluted advice, but he doesn't. Even though he often left me irritated and more confused I still find myself waiting for his response. Seeing as how I got to know him once there was only a ghost of him left I'm not sure how he would take this not so sudden development. Would there be the steady siren call for grandchildren or would he simply remind me again that a partnership is like a marriage? 

In a mine shaft where I was at turns full of rage, fear, cold, and disbelief, I watched my father walk away with his beloved Caroline. She had smiled into my eyes and touched my brow with such tenderness that I felt suddenly instilled with it and overflowing. I could feel it humming through me and looking for a way _out_ through my arms, through my hands, buzzing just under my fingertips and on the tip of my tongue and yet when Ray tossed himself down next to me while others fashioned a rope ladder, I could only stare at him and tremble. Slowly, because I might have shattered, he wrapped his arms around me and ironed my back and neck with his strong hands.

There is a talent to touching that some people have and most don't. I believe it requires a kind of confidence that is more like an act of faith in yourself - and in the one you're reaching out to. You must also be fearless. Ray is fearless. I am not.

Occasionally, through no grace of my own, I have helped Ray to his feet and steadied him for a moment longer than was needed or hooked my arm through his to steady myself. It was nothing new for us. Ray has hugged me, I have applied topical ointment to his wounds, we have held onto each others hands in an alleyway long after both of us were on our feet. The buddy breathing, while somewhat controversial, was, in fact, absolutely necessary. 

Although what I feel is akin to a gravitational pull my expressions of affection tend to be practical in the extreme, bordering on the industrious. Aside from admonishing me not to touch his calf or inner thigh he has taken all this manhandling in stride even before we began our adventure - even before I looked into my mothers eyes.

When Ray and I first set out, the sun was shining off the mountains. The pristine nature of the snow seemed to pull us along requiring little effort on our part. Led by Dief, the dogs worked as a seamless unit, barking and yipping when we finally did stop as if they wanted to continue. Several times early on Ray would look at me with a shake of his head and mumble, "I can't believe we're doing this." His smile, his disbelieving smile, reassured me that we were doing the one and only thing that would ultimately sort us out. 

I believe that both of us needed what we knew would become an arduous trek to shed the ruts we had so comfortably furnished. All the routines, all the assumed identities of Ray Vecchio, of an ex-husband, of a buttoned down Mountie had to be exorcised through physical effort to the point of exhaustion, through time and through each other and no one else. Ostensibly our quest was for the hand of Franklin but in truth we were searching for no one but our own better selves.

I didn't want Ray to regret setting out on this adventure in the only place I could really call home and so at the start I was like a nervous host trying to make him not only comfortable but well entertained. I piled heavy skins over his long legs and shouted down into his ear, "Ursus Maritimus," and then into his upturned, questioning face, "A polar bear, Ray." We would pause and watch the animal lumber off in the distance, white on white. I worried that I would run out of interesting creatures to point out to someone like Ray who was accustomed to channel surfing. I pictured myself calling out to him, "And now Ray if you will direct your attention to the left side of the sled, past the dogs hind ends you will see…more snow." 

A couple of days into my nervous travelogue and Ray refused to get on the sled until I taught him to lead it. He tweaked my cheek right before he released the sled and sent us flying just over the surface of the snow. No longer content to be my guest he took over care of the dogs, not just feeding them but making sure their harnesses were maintained and their ears well scratched. They rewarded him with the attention of a rapt congregation. 

We would set up camp together and eat over a fire sometimes listening to the dogs howling back to a blue moon. When we slept it was in a small tent designed for extreme cold weather in cocoon like sleeping bags made for the same purpose. 

I soon found it impossible to go to sleep without turning on my side to face Ray and exchange stories. While mine were filled with Inuit folklore his were filled with both humor and pathos. Exhausted and warm, slowly blinking back the sleep that was ready to overtake him, he would tell me about the time when he was eight and went to spend the summer in Wisconsin with his cousins. At some point, something valuable was broken by one of the kids and either unwilling or unable to name the guilty party all the kids were sent to their room without supper. Hungry from a long day of swimming, running and pushing, Ray snuck across the hallway into Doreen and Vonda's room which contained a well stocked Easy-Bake Oven. Soon thereafter, sticky sweet brownies were being consumed and snuck back across the hallway to Danny and Mike. Later his puzzled aunt spent close to 2 hours trying to put 5 hyperactive children to bed, ultimately ending up putting Ray into a hot bath when he was unable to come down from a massive sugar high. I loved the sound of his voice, slow and deep with sleep, laughing at his own misfortune. 

I would sometimes leave the kerosene lamp on several minutes after Ray had fallen asleep amazed at how his lashes seemed to reach half way down his cheeks. Finally, I would extinguish the light, roll over onto my back and sleep soundly.

It was out there, in that vast expanse of snow and ice with Ray never more than a few meters from me, that I began to feel something un-namable in myself thaw and crack. It was not an entirely painless process and even then I was aware that it was only the beginning. I was yawning awake, surrounded by the familiar beauty of the natural elements and the equally resonant beauty of Ray. My tired muscles struggled to keep up with my racing heart. I ached with want and need and fought my ingrained impulses to stand up straighter, distance myself, run. The long and ragged fissure that ran the entire length of my body was rapidly filling with my love for Ray. An imperfect space for all the fragile and impossible hope I held for him.

Still, habit prevailed. I would pretend to be completely engrossed in building a fire when in fact I was straining my peripheral vision to take in Ray. He quickly became a model of efficiency when it came to setting up camp but he never lost his sense of commotion. All the rustling noises and mumbled curses soothed me and seemed to make my own tasks effortless and not at all menial. I took such comfort in his presence and the hum of his energy that if things suddenly became quiet I would straighten and look around to see what was wrong. Sometimes, in that quiet, I would find him grinning back at me.

A month and a half into our journey, with summer just around the corner, we were hit by a sudden storm that left us little time to set up shelter. We dug a hole in the snow so the dogs could find some relief from the howling wind and then huddled together in the tent that we seemed to be holding down with our combined weight. Late the next day we dug our way out and foraged for our scattered supplies. One of the dogs was claimed by the storm and despite Rays stoic actions I know he took it hard. We finally went to sleep in the early morning hours and when we woke up Ray pointed to Inuvik on the map and said, "Let's go see Maggie." And so we did.

We showed up on Maggie Mackenzie's front porch bearded, our hands and faces burned by the cold, almost giggling from the sight of another person gazing back at us in wonder. We knocked my sister off balance hugging her, lifting her off her feet, laughing at her squeals. Even as I spun her around I realized that I barely knew my sister beyond her paternity and her address. I had lived with the fading memories of my mother and the ghost of my dad but Maggie was a flesh and blood reality. That simple fact made me dizzy. I was grateful that Ray had his arms around both of us. 

Once the dogs, except for Dief, were set up in the small barn we spent the rest of the evening peeling away layer after layer of our journey. The heavy clothes we had piled on ourselves to keep warm were put in a hamper as Ray and I took turns in a large claw footed tub and then together, jockeyed for space in front of the mirror to shave our beards. Through all this we called out to each other, through a bathroom door or across the room about everything from the long trek to the beautiful print of The Kiss by Gustav Klimt that hung over Maggie's fireplace. 

There was a manic energy that seemed to be dependent on the three of us. We spoke loudly, laughed easily and swatted and shoved each other in an affectionate haze. Both Maggie and I were brought up to be as self contained as possible. I remember thinking that if I had shown up at her door without Ray I probably would have shook her hand hello and yet in Ray's company all restraint was put aside. At one point I startled her when I hugged her without preamble because I knew I already loved her and to prove myself right. Ray's laughter and touch was nothing short of a benediction.

Later, when we were full with the first real hot meal we'd had in several weeks Ray and I claimed most of the large sofa while Maggie curled up in a handsomely made leather and wood plantation chair that a friend of hers had made. At the mention of this "friend" I instantly felt brotherly and gave her a quick look to indicate that I would like to know more. Later. She smiled into her tea cup. 

Ray seemed unfazed by Maggie's possible interest in someone else. He seemed unable to look at her without shining a closed mouth smile and yet there was none of the jarring energy that had hummed between them in Chicago. At her request he tested the comfort of her chair, at one point throwing a long leg over one of the arms. He endorsed it with an "Oh yeah" and then sprawled back onto the sofa not too far from me.

Maggie offered the use of her phone to Ray if he wanted to call his parents and he bashfully took her up on it with a solemn promise to pay the bill. Maggie walked him over to the phone and patted his back and then joined me on the sofa while Ray made his call. 

I knew that his parents would ask him when he was returning home and I had my ear bent for his answer. Once I heard him say that he would have to clear it with Lieutenant Welsh but that he wanted to stay a while longer I was finally able to continue my conversation with Maggie. Seeing Ray hunched over the phone, twisting and untwisting the cord around his fingers reminded me that I would have to make some calls of my own to Frobisher and Inspector Thatcher. Which would inevitably mean a return to duty. Half listening to Ray reminding his father that he did not need to shout, he could hear him just fine, I realized that my separation from Ray was no longer some far off possibility but a rapidly approaching certainty. The weight of this realization must of shown on me because when I finally came back to myself Maggie had my hand cradled in both of hers.

Ray called me over to the phone to speak with his parents. He rested his chin on one shoulder and his hand on the other and grinned at me while I reassured his parents and especially his mother that we were indeed fine and looking forward to spending some quiet time in Inuvik with my sister. It seemed to please them that we were no longer searching for the hand of Franklin which his mother explained she never really understood at all. Ray stifled a laugh on the back of my shoulder and the heat from his mouth that permeated my shirt and henley momentarily distracted me from her admonishments to stay warm, be safe and make sure Stanley eats enough. Before I could forget myself and blurt out that Rays well being and happiness had supplanted my love of duty, Ray tilted the mouthpiece and reassured his mom that he was now "fat and sassy" due to large quantities of oatmeal and pemmican, two of Rays least favorite foods. He winked at me and held me in place while we both finished up the call. His father, full of emotion, clearing his throat in-between his words, told Ray that he was very proud of him. I could feel the impact of those long sought after words reverberate through Ray and then out through his voice when he told both his parents that he loved them. Too emotional to go on his father wished his son good night and hung up his extension. 

By the time Ray hung up he was wrung out and happy and still leaning heavily on me. He gathered himself and patted me on the back and pushed off to thank Maggie for the call with a kiss on the cheek. She in turn kissed me on the cheek and told me that there were extra blankets in the large chest for the sleeper sofa. She wished us good night as well and left us with the fireplace for light and warmth.

We went through our nightly ritual of washing up and in effect setting up camp only this time with an indoor toilet, a fold out bed and scented candles. I broke our silence to tell Ray that I always enjoyed talking with his parents, leaving out the fact that I also found their attention sweetly overwhelming. And to a certain extent I believe Ray was overwhelmed, too. Not looking at me, suddenly busy with a blanket corner, he told me, "Well, they love you, too, Frase." And he thinks he's not good with words.

After weeks of huddling together for warmth and comfort we were long past any awkwardness that might have existed between us when it came to where are we going to sleep tonight? We crawled under the heavy blankets and luxuriated in the comfort of a warm bed. We both "Ahhh"-ed and then laughed a little. I could see Ray glancing around in the dim light. Staring into the fire he told me in a sleepy voice, "It's nice to be in a woman's house." I wanted to tell him that I felt the same enveloping femininity of my sister's home. I wanted to tell him that I had been a teenager the last time that I had slept under the same roof with anyone that I could call family. I managed to make an agreeable sound that seemed to take the last of my energy. Unable to keep my eyes open any longer I rolled onto my back and was well on my way to sleep when the back of Rays hand landed heavily on my shoulder. My eyes fluttered open and I looked at him, half asleep as well, and he said, "Thank you" and then sleep overtook him. I closed my eyes and dropped off under the reassuring weight of Ray's hand.

It was a sign of my comfort level - and exhaustion - that I slept through Maggie leaving for work. I woke up in the same position that I fell asleep in, seemingly too tired to even shift in my sleep. I started to stretch and then realized that Ray had turned on his side, his forehead pressed against my shoulder, a hand draped across my bicep. A byproduct of my comfort level seemed to be that I found casual and apparently even unconscious gestures to be emotionally stirring. I turned my head to the side and found that my chin rested comfortably in the soft brush of his hair. I heard a voice in my head, not quite my own, that said, "Wallow. Just wallow." I closed my eyes and smiled at the sound of Ray's soft snore. 

The next time I woke Ray was sitting on the edge of the sleeper in jeans and a sweater, holding out a cup of tea for me. I fumbled awake, flustered that I could sleep so late and, more disturbingly, through Ray's absence. He grinned down at me and balanced my tea and his own coffee cup until I could sit up and sit still. 

"Morning, Frase."

"Good morning, Ray." The tea he handed me was a nice Earl Grey with just a touch of honey. "Is it still morning?"

"It's oh-nine-thirty-two Benton Fraser. The sun was up hours ago. Where have you been?"

"I've obviously been remiss." And then joined his easy laugh. 

He bowed his head and seemed to be studying the surface of his coffee that he had cradled in his hands as if trying to warm them. I opened my mouth to ask after him but he looked up suddenly and asked, "You know what?"

"What?"

"Last night, my mum, she told me that Stella and Vecchio are engaged and talking about living in Florida."

I was stunned to silence and apparently palsied, too, because Ray quickly reached out and tilted my tea cup upright before I spilled it onto my lap.

"Ray…" His quiet agility gave me back my voice but I could think of nothing else to say.

"It's OK, Fraser" and he crooked a grin at me. "Me and Stella, well, that's a done deal, you know? Has been for a long time. I just…I didn't want to let go because we've known each other for so long and she was so familiar to me but - hey, you know how sometimes even 'bad familiar' is preferable to something new or unknown but I'm not afraid of that anymore. I've done things in the past couple of years that I never knew I could do. I've surprised myself at least twice." We shared a smile before he got to the heart of it. "I think I'll always love her I just don't have to be her husband anymore." He nodded several times as if he were finally agreeing with his own statements and then he took my barely touched tea and walked towards the kitchen area. "I'll get you some more tea."

I could stand the bed no longer. I got up and padded over to Ray and put my hand on his shoulder to turn him around. I took the package of loose tea and the strainer from his hands and set them down somewhere on the stove right before I wrapped my arms around him. He let out an unconvincing laugh and patted me heartily on the back.

"I'm OK, Fraser." And then he straightened as if he were going to lift himself out of my embrace. 

"I know you are." I tightened my arms around him, not enough to restrain, only an assertion. I swallowed even though my mouth was dry. "May I hold you for a while?" He seemed to take a moment to think about it and then acquiesced by leaning heavily into my arms. 

I stood there in my long red underwear, one of us rocking the other side to side when I realized that Ray, apparently, was not the only one capable of surprising himself. The fact that I initiated the embrace seemed nothing short of a revolutionary act. I felt as though I had flown to Pluto with a pound a nails and a flag and claimed it as my own. For me, both acts were equally astounding and just as likely.

The gravity of Ray's weight in my arms served to remind me that I was probably receiving more comfort than I was giving. I anchored my hands on his back and felt his warmth and solidness radiate through me and wondered, maybe this is how it is. Maybe with some people whatever you give is shone right back on you hot and bright and without hesitation. Or maybe it's just Ray.

With a kind of amused panic I realized I had somehow figured out a way to hold him to me but I did not know the steps, the choreography, for releasing him without embarrassing him for something I plainly needed more than he did. I was saved from myself by the whistle of the tea kettle and of course, by Ray, who pulled back just enough to rest his temple against mine before he stepped away to answer the kettle. That small touch - a symbolic and intimate meeting of the minds - and I felt as though I had been kissed. I gestured lamely towards the bathroom and Ray answered with, "OK. Hurry. Tea." 

I took the time in the bathroom to calm down and regroup or more precisely to try and calm down and regroup. I felt simultaneously giddy and embarrassed and a growing, disconcerting sense of losing control that left me talking to myself. I kept grinning through my shaving cream. 

Without a case to solve or a quest to struggle through all my energy and attention could focus squarely - and nervously - on Ray. I would lose my sense of center sometimes just by being too close to him and yet, of course, I wanted to be nowhere else. He served me a delicious omelet that first morning and yet the only thing that really registered on me was how his banged up Clark Kent glasses only served to remind me of what an amazing man lurked underneath them as he pored over the local paper.

He would fold the paper back and show me an editorial in praise of the return of the sun or how the announcement of an upcoming wedding had made it onto the front page. The sweetness, and I suppose the implied simplicity, of life in Inuvik left him smiling and shaking his head. I wondered if my home town could contain such a spirited man.

Both Ray and I spent a good part of the day on the phone to Inspector Thatcher, Lieutenant Welsh and Sergeant Frobisher. The amount of information that I received that day staggered me. Frobisher proudly told me that I was being promoted to Corporal Fraser while Inspector Thatcher briskly rattled off possible outposts that I could choose from. While Ray Vecchio and Stella Kowalski were deciding where in Florida they would start their married life I could choose between Inuvik and Chicago among others. I snidely thought that Toronto and Ottawa had been added to the list in order to appear that I was not being punished again which only went to prove how disenfranchised I still was from my brother officers. 

In any case, I would end up spending some time in Toronto since Muldoon's trial would be held there. The fact that he confessed to killing my mother thirty-three years ago was, not surprisingly, taking a back seat to nuclear submarines and homegrown American terrorists. Frobisher, in a moment free of any eccentricities, quietly reassured me that I would not be the only one determined to bring my mother's killer to justice. No matter what the courts decided about Muldoon's other crimes he would pay for the one against Caroline.

I had to sit down when Inspector Thatcher informed me that Constable Turnbull had resigned in order to pursue public office but would have to put that off until some of the swelling went down after his own campaign bus knocked him to the curb. Ray questioned my reaction with a look and then supplied the pen and paper I gestured for so that I could take down Renfield's address in Ottawa.

The news of Francesca's impending motherhood that she squealed into a receiver that she must of snatched away from Lieutenant Welsh was a welcome balm. Now that I no longer had to deflect the sheer tonnage of her attention I felt like I had room and reason to miss her sweetness and her eye-rolling sarcasm. Later, after Ray and I both gushed over her, Lieutenant Welsh came back on the line and granted Ray another two weeks off.

I stayed on the phone with Lieutenant Welsh long after the exchange of information. He congratulated me in a way that made it clear he knew I would not be returning to Chicago in a professional capacity. I wanted to convey to him that his gruff directness and unflappable demeanor had made him not so much of a father figure to me as a mentor or more precisely, a guide. A guide I needed long before I had to find my way through Chicago. Instead, I managed to thank him for his years of leadership. He snorted and gave me his home address.

The one person we did not call that day was Ray Vecchio. Despite Ray's assurances that he was fine with Stella and Ray being together it was not something I wanted to put to the test right away. 

While on our quest I had gotten into the habit of writing Ray Vecchio long, information rich letters about the direction of our trek, the weather, the rise or fall of several animal populations and even how well Ray was adapting to such an alien environment. I would mail the letters off in small bundles whenever we came across an outpost or township. I had another bundle ready for mail but I would put them aside for a much shorter one I would write that night.

Ray had left me to finish my talk with Lieutenant Welsh in private. I found him in the barn, sitting cross legged on a pile of hay with the dogs, including Dief, happily roiling around him. I indulged myself by taking a long moment to just watch him. My first instinct was to assume that he was enjoying a good tussle with the dogs but upon closer inspection it was obvious that he was saying goodbye.

"We have to give them back." Not a question.

"Yes, Ray. They belong to the RCMP. Very much like K-9 police back home." I surprised myself by referring to Chicago as home and sat down heavily beside him to gather myself. Instead, I was jostled and licked, surplus affection that was rightly meant for Ray. He shone a sad smile at me while I tried to keep myself upright and slobber free. Something changed in his eyes, they became brighter somehow and then he reached out for me and pulled me across his lap. As if he had to encourage them he called out, "Hey, c'mere" as he held me down. "Lick him. Liiiiick him." And then laughed when they did. I thought, if they remember us at all, it will be like this.

Later, after we had both rinsed our faces - and ears - I offered to show Ray around town. We set off on foot, both of us seeming to need the exercise after so much time spent indoors. He seemed both amused and fascinated by the pastel colored row houses, in yellow, green and blue, bumped up on short posts and connected by above ground heated utilidors which I explained provided sewer and water services. The telephone poles and wires criss-crossing between the homes betrayed the fact that Inuvik has cable and would soon be cellular. To my eye, it's isolation seemed to be arm wrestling with unstoppable technology. Ray ran his fingertips along a utilidor and pointed out that it must be hard to be a loner with everything connected. I lost my step and had to rush to catch up with him. 

We ran into several people who treated us as small celebrities from what Ray called our "submarine days". While I was a more familiar face, either known through my grandparents or through Maggie, it was Ray, with his experimental blond looks and somewhat exotic accent who captured their attention. I stood back and watched more than a couple people begin to reach out as if to test his gravity defying hair against the palm of their hand before they remembered themselves and patted him on the arm instead. I wanted to shout at them, yes, I understand your compulsion.

We would fall into step as Dief ran ahead of us and then tracked his way back. I pointed out the Igloo Church more for it's novelty factor than anything else and was a little surprised when Ray gestured that we go in. I watched him go through the silent ritual of entering the church and sat in a pew while he knelt in front of several flickering votives and lit one of his own. I bowed my head with his and closed my eyes. Free of any distractions I felt myself relax and in turn felt all my gratitude well up inside of me. Gratitude for being alive, for having family, for being home - gratitude for my time with Ray. I relaxed even further until my chin was resting on my chest, free of tension, free of worry. I finally raised my head only to find Ray sitting patiently beside me. He gave me a small smile and we left the church as quietly as we came in. 

As we continued our tour of Inuvik I found myself going through the motions of greeting people and pointing out interesting sites while my mind kept coming back to the fact that I only had two more weeks with Ray. I didn't want to indulge in some kind of countdown that would only make it impossible to enjoy his company while he was here. I tried to remind myself that Chicago was not that far away and, of course, that no matter how far apart we were that we would always be partners. My own declaration suddenly had the feel of cold comfort. 

Thankfully, Ray took it upon himself to bring me out of my "funk" by bumping into my shoulder with his no matter how much room I gave him. By the time we reached Maggie's outpost I was quite literally shoving Ray through the door. I'm afraid we startled Maggie and a man she was quietly talking to. Maggie, a little flustered, introduced us to Victor Duval, a carpenter and part - time furniture builder.

Ah.

I stole a glance at Ray who again was giving her a closed mouth smile that seemed geared more towards teasing her than towards any kind of jealousy. Maggie was doing her best not to look at anyone. Victor rescued her by suggesting that we get together that night at Willa's for supper. We all agreed, maybe a little too loudly, and Victor excused himself shortly thereafter. As soon as Victor was out the door Maggie swatted Ray on the arm and they both laughed. She quickly pointed a stern finger at me silently warning off any further teasing. I raised my hands in surrender.

That night at Willa's set the pace for the following week. 

Willa's was a comfortable hybrid of a '50's diner and a modern day coffee house. A long counter ran opposite large booths. Further on back hook rugs and mismatched overstuffed sofas were gathered around an upright piano, a small drum kit and a cello. Everything was weathered and functional. I was immediately at ease. 

It quickly became obvious that Victor was a normally quiet, forthright young man who was completely undone by his affection for Maggie. Several times his fork hung suspended between his plate and his mouth, forgotten, while Maggie spoke or laughed. I exchanged a knowing look with Ray who winked back.

Innocently, Victor asked if I knew where I was going to be posted. Of course there was only one answer and I dreaded saying it as if voicing it would make it come to pass sooner rather than later. 

"I hope to find a home here." While Victor made some agreeable comment I looked across the table at Ray who raised his water glass in a toast to Inuvik. My hand was shaking when I raised my own tumbler. Ray held my gaze and then gave me a small smile to let me know that he was not surprised or angry with my decision. 

I cleaned my plate, made conversation and felt another cell of hope wink out. 

People began drifting back towards the sofas as someone began playing the piano. There was no house band only patrons who in effect were singing for their supper. Their play list contained a mix of jazz, country and something Ray called Pearl Jam unplugged but sounded more like aboriginal throat singing.

Unable to hold still Ray held out his hand to a woman I knew as Mary. Short, round and beautiful she hesitated only a moment before taking Ray's hand. Effortlessly they glided and spun around the room, Mary's waist length hair trailing behind her. When the song finished the room dissolved into applause and whistles. Ray bowed to Mary and escorted her back to where he had swept her away. She barely suppressed a smile, nodded, and then joined two other women across the room. 

Breathless and laughing Ray held out his hand to me. An invitation to dance that I swatted away. I bowed my head to hide my need and Ray bent low and peered up at me until I laughed. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me and then bounded off to offer Maggie the hand I had turned down. He added steps and a couple dips until Maggie took the lead and dipped him. He came up laughing and hugged her tightly only to offer his hand to Willa's 9 year old daughter, Josie, when Maggie begged off another tour of the sofa maze. Without sacrificing any style Ray carefully waltzed Josie over to her mother. 

I stepped back, almost outside of myself, and watched the people around me sing and dance with varying degrees of expertise. I sat on the arm of a sofa and enjoyed the feeling of my heart breaking. These beautiful, fallible people were making a place inside of me with their hesitant steps and off key voices. I could only hope that I could offer them more than my policing efforts. 

Ray, sweaty and exuberant, startled me when he flung an arm around my neck and leaned against my side until I was swaying with him to the last song of the night. I tried to stand up but he held me in place and patted shoulder. Relax, relax. No need to stand at parade rest. Joseph is singing Willie Nelson; all I need to do is sway to the music. I understood all that only because Ray anchored me.

I believe that I socialized more in that one week than I did the entire time of my adult life leading up to it. I was no longer allowed to politely hold the door open and move on or tip my hat in passing; I was fully engaged. As if taking their cue from Ray I was approached, patted, squeezed and shook. I was unnerved, flustered and grateful. 

The changes I made in that short span of time were subtle and profound. I would sit next to someone instead of across from them, I got use to the sound of my own laugh once it was no longer a rare occurrence, I danced with Mary and Josie and sang for my supper. 

Changes outside myself were also profound. Once I expressed a desire to stay in Inuvik I quickly found my own place and by weeks end Ray, Maggie and Victor were helping me set up home in a one bedroom apartment neatly situated between Willa's diner and Maggie's cabin. 

While Maggie supplied me with bedding and dishes Ray's house warming gift was a beautiful acoustic guitar that I had silently admired in a window on our first day in Inuvik. I had never bothered to replace the one that was lost in the fire the day I met him. It's beauty and sentiment left me speechless. I played it with unsteady hands.

Victor told me that he could sell me a sofa at cost that a customer had decided would not go with their current scheme after he had built it to their specifications. By Friday I had a full size bed, a small dining table with mismatched chairs and an enormous red crushed velvet sofa. While Ray sprawled the entire length of it, I circled it warily.

Although I was putting down roots as quickly and as efficiently as possible the one thing I did not do was return to duty. On some level I knew that the RCMP was giving me a long leash to run with, in apology or in thanks, I'm not quite sure. I gave them my new contact information but did not ask for an assignment in Inuvik and they did not press one on me. At times I felt as though I was playing a game a chess with all the big moves saved for the end and at other times it seemed more like a staring contest. Who would blink first? The King or the pawn?

I let people assume that I was still on holiday with my friend and my sister and would not be making any work related decisions until the holiday was over. It seemed to be a foregone conclusion that once Ray returned to Chicago I would resume all of my long held patterns of work, exercise and solitude. More astute, intuitive observers seemed to realize that in many ways I was still on a quest and that the path I would be taking would reveal itself all in good time. 

Saturday, more than a few people dropped by my apartment with house warming gifts ranging from thick blankets to a terrarium from Josie that once housed a lizard. Ray regaled her with the adventures of his turtle that I had never been witness to. My kitchen became a busy place filled with stews, fresh baked bread and sticky desserts. Dief, tail up, mingled. 

By the time Maggie and Victor showed up I had simply left the door open and offered pigs-in-a-blanket to whoever came through it. Maggie seemed to share the same wide eyed amazement that I felt with so many people, from such a small town, converging in my living room. She reached for Victor's hand and they held onto each other for the rest of the night.

Late into the evening, I indulged in a very mild form of hysteria when I found myself unable to hold up my end of two separate conversations while holding a plate of cheese and crackers with an enormous oven mitt that I did not know that I owned. I stood there and started laughing to myself until Ray handed the plate and mitt to someone else and led me over to the sofa. Deep seated with a high back and arms, I was immediately engulfed in red velvet. It was…delightful. 

I let my head fall back and then turned to look at Ray who was in a similar position and grinning back at me. The voices of my guests that a moment before had clamored for my attention faded away to a distant murmur. All I could see were the gold flecks in Ray's blue eyes. My tongue flicked the corner of my mouth. A nervous habit. Ray watched and then looked back up. I leaned over as if to whisper a secret. Ray tilted his head. My nose tingled. Ray looked at my mouth. I sneezed. 

Startled, Ray ducked back and then smiled and offered, "Salute" in chorus with several distant "Bless you's". I was mortified. I opened my mouth to apologize, to explain - what? My clown-footed affection for Ray? The mechanics of a sneeze? I knew from past experience that the apartment would be empty before I got to the velocity of the average human expulsion. And to explain anything more important to me might have caused Ray to leave sooner rather than later.

I was absurdly grateful when Maggie handed me my guitar. I sat up and began tuning it mercilessly. Finally, a sense memory kicked in and I played a blues song that I had heard on Ray's stereo a lifetime ago. Whether from talking so much earlier in the evening or from singing such sad, resigned lyrics, my voice gave out near the end of the song and "Lonely Stranger" became a guitar instrumental. I was lavished with applause and hoots that far outweighed my half realized efforts. 

Willa announced that she needed to get a sleepy Josie home and soon thereafter all our guests began to trickle out the door. Victor and Maggie stayed and helped me arrange all the leftover food in a refrigerator that was not really big enough for so much Tupperware. Ray made easy work of the few plastic cups and paper plates that hadn't already been thrown away. I promised Maggie that we would join her for breakfast the next day and then we were alone.

"You feeling all right, Fraser?"

"I'm fine, Ray. Just a little tired from the move."

"Uh huh." The American equivalent of hmm.

I crawled into bed that night unaccountably tired and unnerved. I closed my eyes and almost immediately felt myself sinking into sleep when I felt the bed shift and the back of Ray's cool fingers against my cheek. I flinched a little and Ray rested the palm of his hand on my forehead.

"Fraser, you're running a fever. I'll get you some aspirin."

"That won't be necessary Ray -"

"Tylenol?"

"No, thank you. I'm fi - "

"Something with a mucous membrane…?"

"Ray, I'm fine. Just a little tired. A few hours of sleep and I'll be fit as a fiddle."

"Uh huh."

I rolled onto my side, effectively ending the debate and furtively ran my fingertips across my forehead where Ray had rested his hand. I was almost certain I could feel the whorls of his fingerprints.

The next morning I woke up shivering and achy. My eyes watered, my nose ran. It took an uncalled for amount of effort just to sit up and then I had no energy to go any further. Ray strode into the bedroom.

"Hey. You. Back into bed." I resolved never to bark orders at Dief again.

I opened my mouth to protest but it only gave Ray the opportunity to plunge a thermometer under my tongue. I obediently held it in place while Ray rifled through a drug store bag for an enormous bottle of ibuprofen. He left without explanation and came back with a large tumbler of water. Finally he took the thermometer out of my mouth and looked at the result with such pointed exasperation that I almost laughed.

"A hundred and three point four, Fraser." He whipped it around faster than I could see the digits. "That's - what? - forty-two degrees Celsius to you?" I nodded.

He began struggling with the child proof cap until he had two large capsules in the palm of his hand. He held one up as if he were going to shoot a basket. I waited for instruction.

"Don't. Do not argue with me."

I unrolled my tongue just to see his expression and was not disappointed. After he quickly collected himself he placed the first capsule on the tip of my tongue and handed me the tumbler. I took the second capsule under my own volition.

He went to his duffle bag and pulled out a pair of thick socks and then returned to the bed and unceremoniously pulled my feet off the floor and across his lap. I was soon wearing his socks. My tough, judicious grandmother would have admired his style.

Holding onto my ankles he swung my feet off his lap and pulled me to the center of the bed until I had no choice but to lie down. He tucked me in with less gruffness and then sat on the edge of the bed and very slowly smiled down at me. I fell asleep thinking, Stella is an idiot. This man is a Prince.

I woke late in the afternoon to Ray's voice gently calling me out of the thick fog of sleep.

"Hey. Hey you." He held out two more capsules for me to take and then more water. "If this fever doesn't go down soon I'm calling in a doctor." He smoothed his hand over my forehead and cheek. Selfishly, I turned my face into his touch and went back to sleep.

Monday morning I sat up in bed and threw off the covers. I was uncomfortably hot and tugged at the cold, soaking wet long johns I was wearing. Sweat soaked my hair, rolling down my face and collecting at the base of my throat. Agitated, I tugged again at my clothes, the buttons slipping from my fingers.

Ray staggered into the bedroom from the bathroom looking disheveled and half awake. "Okay, okay. I got you."

As he quickly unbuttoned me he asked, "Do these come with zippers?"

I answered him seriously, "No, I don't believe so."

"No?" He laughed a little. "Okay, there we go." He slipped the wet long johns off my shoulders and I was suddenly cold again. "Alright, I've got a hot bath waiting for you, okay? Can you…" He anchored his arm around my waist and walked me into the bathroom.

The small room was steamy from the full tub. Ray helped get the rest of my long johns off and then tossed them into the corner with a wet whap sound. With a burst of energy I climbed into the tub and then quickly sunk. Ray seemed to sigh along with me and then I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the wet heat sinking into my bones. Ray left the door ajar and busied himself in the bedroom. 

I stayed in the tub long enough to wrinkle my fingertips. I got out under my own power and had enough energy to brush my teeth and then I was exhausted again. Ray knocked on the open door and again gathered me around the waist and walked me back to a freshly made bed. Coming from the clean soapy smell of the bathroom made the sour fever-sweat smell of the bedroom almost overpowering but the bed looked so inviting I could hardly care about anything else. Ray sat me down on the edge and handed me another pair of long johns that he ended up helping me put on. He got another towel and ran it through my hair more thoroughly than I had been able to. I almost fell asleep with him tossing my head back and forth under the soft terrycloth.

Finally, I lay down. Ray threw the towel into another corner and then crawled in beside me. He turned on his side and draped his hand loosely around my bicep in what had become a familiar hold. I'm not sure which one of us fell asleep first.

I spent Tuesday and Wednesday asleep. I have dim lit memories of Maggie feeding me a mug of chicken soup that I could barely smell or taste. Ray helped me get up when I absolutely needed to and I spent the rest of the time tossing and turning, never really comfortable. I became peevish when my unending sleep was interrupted by Ray or Maggie's ministrations. I had fevered dreams that would wake me up and leave my memory blank as to what they had been about. 

One dream that I do remember involved my otherwise no nonsense grandmother kissing my forehead to check for a fever when I was still very young. I smiled at the memory and opened my eyes to find Ray leaning over me.

"Do I look like your grandma, Frase?"

The stubble and horn rimmed glasses were distinctly Ray. I answered truthfully, "No."

He seemed to find my reply amusing and laughed as he leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Fever's gone." And then he ambled out of the room.

When I woke up later I was not sure where my memory ended and my dreams began or which one was a dream or which one wasn't.

Wednesday evening I pushed myself out of bed still feeling heavy limbed but definitely more lucid. I could hear Ray in the kitchen, talking under his breath, sometimes softly exclaiming, "Oh shit" and then laughing at whatever had gone wrong. 

It reminded me of our search for Franklin, just the two of us, the blinding stars and camping equipment that Ray sometimes had to force into compliance. I leaned against the doorway, almost hiding, and listened for a long time. 

When he moved into the living room I moved into the bathroom and took a quick shower. A large part me only wanted to go back to bed but I was determined to get dressed and stay awake if only to make up for, in some small way, all the time I had missed with Ray while I was asleep. My jeans and henley still felt heavy on me. I went to my closet to look for a brown and gold flannel shirt that I believe was mine but had been appropriated by Ray somewhere between returning Buck Frobisher's salute and deciding to visit Maggie. I found the shirt and noticed a garment bag hanging beside my one uniform. When I unzipped it my two uniforms that had been left back in Chicago fairly glowed back at me. I zipped it up quickly and then even though I knew better I nudged the garment bag aside and began to check the back of the closet for a door and found only smooth plaster. Absurdly, I knocked. Hellooo, father. Are you there? Do you hear me?

"Anyone home?" 

I jumped at the sound of Ray's voice. He tried to smile through his worried expression as I laughed and stammered and closed the closet door more firmly than was absolutely necessary.

"Oh - Ray! Why yes, this is an excellent home. Very soundly built."

He stared at me for several long moments before he raised his palm to my forehead in search of a fever.

"You feel OK, Fraser?"

"I feel fit as a fiddle, Ray, thanks to your excellent care."

His palm slid down to my cheek. "Fraser, you - feel - OK?"

The warmth from his hand somehow made it impossible for me to…equivocate. "I'm still a little tired."

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

"No."

"Do you want to go sit on the big scary couch?"

"Yes." And then we were both on our way to the living room.

He patted me on the back and then squeezed my shoulder. "You gonna put my shirt on or just drag it around?"

"I'm not sure it's your shirt, Ray." I had more to say but forgot all of it when I finally saw my ill used trunk sitting in the middle of the living room.

"Vecchio -" Ray leaned confidentially close. "_Raymundo _Vecchio," Just so there was no confusion, "sent your stuff from Chicago. I think you saw the uniforms."

"Yes…yes, I did."

Ray slipped the shirt from my distracted grasp and held it out for me to put on. The flannel was warm and soft against my skin as Ray smoothed it over my shoulders and yet I could not stop staring at the trunk as if it might at any moment uncurl from it's slumber, sniff the air and then lunge at me. 

It was un-nerving to have the last physical link that I had to Chicago sitting in the middle of my small living room in Inuvik, clashing with my scary sofa. There would no longer be an excuse to return to Chicago hard on the heels of Ray. I could no longer say, "Ah, I must go back to Chicago and bring back my trunk - which has great sentimental value - and maybe, if time permits, I might look up my good friend Ray Kowalski." I wondered if I packed the shirt I was now wearing in Ray's bag would it be rude to retrieve it at some not so distant date? Would flannel be my last link to him?

Despite my fathers' assurances to the contrary and even my own reassurances to Ray, I distrusted long distant relationships. Not because I felt unable to maintain my affection for Ray across an unguarded border but because I felt capable of little else. Left to my own devices, without the daily contact and friction which Ray unabashedly provided I feared that I would sink back into the most active part of my brain where if my needs were not met in reality they could be vividly imagined and easily believed.

Victoria is wrenching, living proof of my ability to uphold a delusion. Our one encounter with near death was something that I nursed with my own needs, spoke to in the mirror with hope and regret even though I was the instrument of her downfall, until the day when she showed up at my door, stayed just long enough to prove her hate and then left without a single fingerprint to show for it. 

Inside my head forgiveness and atonement are possible and routine, great love is not steeped in pain and betrayal and the people I love do not disappear with violent suddenness; duty is no longer a four letter word to my ears because in my head, where all the miss-firing synapses are, duty applies to people first and last. 

I had no fear that my relationship with Ray would disintegrate into bile but rather that it would languish in my imagination while Ray moved on to more tangible relationships that had nothing to do with my prompt, dry letters and occasional phone calls.

If I showed up on Ray's doorstep in six months would we greet each other heartily and then step back? Would the walls that he had been so effectively taken down be reassembled by the two of us while we talked and laughed politely over pizza or kung pao chicken?

There were also more immediate concerns: how would I be able to sleep Saturday night without Ray to weigh down the other side the bed with his blanket stealing presence? Would Dief enjoy the spaghetti I would have to share with him because I could not remember how to cook for one? 

Ray, still standing behind me, squeezed my shoulders and I sunk back into myself with an almost audible thud. He tugged me back and hooked his chin over my shoulder. "You OK?"

"You keep asking me that."

"You keep making me wonder."

"I'm fine, Ray. Thank you for asking."

"Uh huh."

He followed the direction of my stare and seemed to fixate on the trunk just as I had. Finally, he nudged me aside and pushed the trunk up against a wall, not exactly out of sight but no longer the center of attention. It worked. The spell was broken and even though I felt like I had something of a hangover from worrying I could at least participate in a dialogue.

I found my way over to the sofa and was almost immediately covered by a honey colored afghan. I looked back and up at Ray.

"Pearl Clearwater made that for you."

"It's beautiful. I'll thank her when I see her."

I picked up a remote for a TV that I had no memory of ever buying and pressed the on button expecting only static and instead was treated to a game of curling. As heated as the match was I could not give it my full attention. I looked around the room and noticed a portable CD player along with a small pile of CD's. Behind me a microwave oven beeped 3 times and for a long moment I wondered if in my fevered state I had gone on a buying frenzy at the local appliance store. In reality, I knew that every time I let someone in my apartment they managed to leave behind one thing or another and so far seemed disinclined to reclaim any of it. I felt pitied and eager to indulge at the same time. 

Ray brought me a large mug of onion soup topped with croutons and cheese and settled into a boneless slouch not too far from me. When I didn't begin eating right away he informed me that the soup was from Willa's and was really good. And it was. I finished all of it and then let Ray take the mug from me. When he came back I felt more of myself than I had in days and so I immediately began to apologize. 

"I'm sorry Ray, for being such a poor host - "

"Fraser, we're partners."

"Yes but, I had hoped to show you more of Inuvik than my medicine cabinet. We still haven't gone fishing or - ah!" As he was wont to do he got me to stop talking by picking up my feet and pulling them across his lap.

"Mm-huh, mm-huh, mm huh and then what?"

I tried to right myself as much as I could but found it difficult with my feet in his grip, half prone and _our_ shirt rucked up under my arms.

"Really, Ray - "

"Relax, Fraser."

Resigned, I let my head fall back and turned my attention to the TV. Ray's thumbs circled the soles of my feet. 

Without letting go of me Ray leaned to the side and picked up two letters from a small table and handed them to me. One was from Turnbull and the other was from Ray Vecchio - Raymundo - Vecchio. I read the one from Turnbull first and was relieved to hear that he was anticipating a full recovery and looking forward to re-starting his campaign once he was off his crutches. I relayed this information to Ray who seemed equally engrossed in the curling match and my feet.

"Yeah, he told me."

I had written Turnbull the week before and once I signed my name to the end of the letter I had asked Ray if he wanted to add a post script to it. Uncharitably, I had half expected Ray to write "look out" in capital letters with a heavy exclamation mark but instead he had taken the pad and pen from me and wrote until he had filled up three pages. I sent the letter without reading Ray's part and apparently they were writing each other independent of me. I felt a brief pang of jealousy and then dismissed it as soon as Ray began tugging on each toe.

The letter from Ray Vecchio was harder to dismiss. It was postmarked from Miami, Florida which I selfishly found disconcerting in that it was physical evidence of yet another friend who was moving on. The contents of the letter was equally unsettling. I had to struggle to sit up. Ray seemed bereft without my feet in his hands and I was simultaneously pleased and puzzled by it before I turned my attention back to the letter.

"What's wrong? Something happen?" and when I didn't answer right away, "Is it Stella? Is she all right?"

"What - no, Ray. She's fine. He, uh, tells me that they feel like they've gone on a vacation and then stayed." His expression goes from worried to unnaturally neutral and I hate my unthinking honesty anew. No one is so evolved that they want to hear that their ex is having a ball at the beach with your former namesake. I tell him what rattled me more to distract him than anything else.

"Ray thinks that I should edit the letters I sent him - and maybe even some of my dads' journals - into a book. He's been talking to a publisher who lives next door to him and they think our adventure is something people would like to read about."

Ray snorts out a laugh but his smile is blinding. "Fraser, you've got a whole franchise of adventures: performance arsonists, card sharks, pirates and ghost ships and that's just since I've known you." His enthusiasm cools when he sees me still worrying over the letter. "Hey," he reaches over and smoothes the eyebrow that I had just creased with my own thumbnail with the pad of his thumb. "You don't have to decide tonight, right?" I nod. "OK then, take a few days, sleep on it, huh?" I nod again and without thinking rub my eyebrow. Ray smoothes it over once more and then leaves his hand on my face. It works like a truth serum.

"Sometimes I can't bear the thought of returning to the RCMP. I found the killers of my father - the killers of my dad, Ray and they punished me for it. I know people choose to live in Chicago but it wasn't my choice. If it wasn't for the people I met there - if it wasn't for you and Ray - I would hate them for what they did because it had nothing to do with duty or justice and everything to do with the worst kind of politics. It takes rounding up several terrorist _and _a Russian nuclear submarine to get back into their good graces when in fact I only wanted to stop Muldoon. And this - " I shake the letter in my hand, "this - just because I talk too much and tell Inuit stories doesn't mean that I'm a writer. Isn't there enough sensationalistic tripe in the bookstores already without me adding to it?"

During my tirade Rays' hand had slipped from my face to my shoulder to my arm to end up resting on my wrist. With practiced ease he used the remote to turn off the TV and then knelt on the sofa so that he was facing the back of it and then with a comfort level I doubt that I will ever reach, he pulled me into a strong, warm embrace. He patted my back audibly.

"OK, no more TV for you."

I laughed a little but I was so tired and so embarrassed I wished I could simply go to sleep and blame my rant on the cold medication in the morning. 

He tightened his hold on me as if I might try to get away and then said, "For the record Fraser, I think the world is a better place because you're in it. Uh, where do you think you're going?" I settled back into his arms. "I know for a fact that my life went from kicked to the curb to airborne when I met you. Literally airborne! Don't think I haven't noticed, OK?"

"OK."

He was quiet for a long moment then chose his words hesitantly. "I think that if you stay in the RCMP that you will continue to do great things whether it involves a submarine or not. I don't believe that you could ever become a politician - no offense to Turnbull or the Queen." I smiled against his shoulder. "And Fraser, I love your Inuit stories it's just that you picked the worst times to tell them." I began to laugh. "I think that you could be a writer. I think that you could be a Mountie who writes and that you don't have to give up one to do the other. You have choices now that you didn't have before and I think that's what's throwing you."

I let his words sink in and then squeezed him to me. "Thank you, Ray."

"Welcome. Any time. You know that, right?"

I nodded my agreement into his shoulder and rested my forehead against his neck and almost fell asleep. 

Ray had always been quick to disparage his slender frame which never made sense to me. I had come to believe that someone like him who is filled to capacity with exuberance and fierceness simply had no room for extra bulk. Instead, lean muscle is laid over strong bone until every scar is a testament to his strength and resiliency. How else do I explain how easy it was to lean on him like a child when I'm normally not inclined to lean on anyone? 

I woke up on Thursday morning still leaning on Ray. At some point he had put me to bed and between sleeping and waking I had stretched out diagonally on the bed until my head was pillowed on his shoulder and my hand held his bicep as if it were a winning lottery ticket. Drowsily I lifted my head to see if I could untangle myself without disturbing him further. He inhaled sharply and then opened his eyes and smiled down on me. I got the feeling that he had only been lightly dozing until I woke up which made me feel as if I had somehow used his generosity against him.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't mean to usurp the entire bed."

He groaned and rolled out of bed and then leaned over and kissed me loudly on the forehead, not exactly checking for a fever. He pointed a stern finger at me and said, "You apologize too much," and then stumbled sleepily into the bathroom. 

I lay there, stunned to silence, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a grin and wondered stupidly when it had become so absolutely sweet to be completely unnerved by every other gesture Ray made towards me. I knew that I loved him and I knew that he would be leaving early Saturday morning. Those two incompatible facts left my heading spinning. Those facts created an environment where every look or touch or half joking term of endearment felt weighted with the inevitability that they would be the last once Ray made his connecting flights back to Chicago.

Even before we came to Inuvik I had been cataloging his impact on me to be recalled at some later date when he was no longer within sight. I remembered the way he looked staring up at a night time sky only because the stars seemed close enough to touch and the sound of his voice dissolving into laughter when he would try to scold the dogs, and fail. Add to that, and many more, the damp sweetness of his kiss on the most neutral part of my body.

I groaned and rolled out of bed as Ray had demonstrated. I could hear him in the shower, sometimes singing to himself. I got dressed in the clothes that I had barely worn the night before and went into the kitchen to make breakfast. I would eat because I should and to encourage Ray but I had little taste for food.

Of course the kitchen was completely stocked either by Ray or half of Inuvik - or more likely, some combination of both. By the time he padded out into the kitchen, hair still wet but upright, I had pancakes, scrabbled eggs, bacon and his own special recipe for coffee waiting for him. 

He smoothed his hand over my shoulders as I set the table. "Oh good; you're hungry."

I smiled at him as I loaded his plate. He seemed to know that I needed to get back some measure of equilibrium and let me serve him with only a "Thanks, Frase," as comment. 

When I saw Dief pacing in front of the door I could immediately sympathize although for different reasons. After spending so much time inside I could not wait to get outside and feel and smell the cold air and watch my boots sink into the shallow snow. I began pacing with him as Ray bundled up and then made sure that I did the same. A long red scarf nearly masked my identity and the mittens were not absolutely necessary. He seemed pleased with the results and then opened the door with a flourish. I had a brief moment of déjà vu, of opening my closet door to find my dad in a cabin with all of the Yukon just beyond his window. All I had to do is step inside and yet I rarely did, preferring instead to argue with him with my spare uniforms and empty hangers for moral support. 

I blinked hard and stepped out into a bright, clear spring day. Dief seemed ecstatic to be outside and both Ray and I picked up on his mood. He would track some unfortunate small animal and startle it certainly, but seemed unsure of what to do next. Standing over a hare who eventually wandered off I thought - uncharitably - that he looked like some over sized child waiting for the short yellow bus.

Ray started laughing as Dief stared back at us, the hare long gone. "Oh dear. He's ruined. Thoroughly domesticated." And then I realized, we both are. Ray slapped me on the shoulder and laughed harder as Dief tracked his way back to us. I could only shake my head and laugh along with him.

Once we made it into the city we were greeted by several well wishers. Ray pulled a small camera out of his pocket and we spent the rest of the day taking pictures of Ray with Willa and Josie, Joseph, Victor in his workshop, Mary, Maggie at her outpost and several others. Near the end of the day we ended up by the cairn sculpture not far from the Igloo Church. Ray asked a passerby, an older man in long white braids if he would take a picture of us and he graciously obliged, instructing us where to stand or sit until only one photo was left. I took the camera and snapped a candid photo of Ray, his arm around his new friend, smiling down on him while Omer looked shyly into the camera. 

By the time we got to Josephs' we had four rolls of film for him to develop. Ray bought more film and Joseph assured us that he would have the photos ready for Rays' party Friday night. Rays' going away party. I smiled my thanks and felt all the restorative powers of our photo tour drain out of me and puddle heavily at my feet.

As if from a great distance I heard Ray tell Joseph that I was still not one hundred percent and that he needed to get me home. It wasn't until I felt his arm rest around my shoulders that I was able to move. I would catch Ray looking at me, wanting to ask if I was OK and smiling at me instead. The countdown to Rays' departure was beginning in earnest and I had become inert. His arm never left my shoulder until we were home.

Once we were there I shrugged out of my heavy outer wear and began opening one plastic container after another in search of a supper that would keep the day from ending in an anticlimax of me shuffling off to bed early while Ray watched curling with Dief. I found a salmon casserole that Ray mmm'd appreciatively over and some green and yellow squash that had been sautéed in a peppery sauce. Ray found a couple apple tarts that we could have for dessert. 

We worked around each other, almost wordlessly. Ray, always a much more tactile person than I ever was, leaned over my shoulder, patted my back, bumped my hip with his own to get to the silverware drawer. I was tired and more than a little depressed with the thought of Ray leaving so soon and yet I was flustered - in the best way possible - from being so affectionately batted around. 

It seemed to be the epitome of our relationship that I could be as stoic and polite as I pleased but it would not stop Ray from sometimes literally pushing for more. Whatever I had did not need to be pretty, only true and potent. Affection, loyalty - even exasperation - were held in esteem over propriety and convention. It was not necessarily easy loving Ray, it simply seemed inevitable, something sweet that was decided for me long before I was born.

Predestination was not something that I subscribed to lightly and yet there was no logical reason to explain how I could be raised so far from Chicago and yet end up there and remain long enough to meet not one but _two_ men named Ray whom I love beyond all measure. All the moves that had to come into play - not at all strategic, but random, sometimes tragic - until we were both on a one way circuitous route to each others personal space.

I would have never been able to tell anyone that I needed someone who would stand too close, ignore logic and tell me I was wrong. I did not know it about myself. I did not know that I had been waiting, somewhat impatiently, and at attention, for the sound of a voice that was part street tough, part wolf howl. 

Despite all that ignorance, I was not as oblivious as I sometimes pretended to be. I knew that Ray needed me and quite possibly - on some level - even loved me but I also knew that our situation and our own innate bearings did not necessarily lend themselves to the two of us joining hands for the sled ride to Happily-Ever-After. 

First off, we were illegal aliens in each others home town. Distance may make the heart grow fonder but it also leaves too much room to move on. Add to that we were both men who heretofore had loved women with near suicidal desperation. Stella and Victoria were not to be dismissed lightly. Ray and I bore the battle scars of trying to love these two women. More importantly we still harbored the hope we had for them and for ourselves. 

I could not say with any honestly what I would do if I saw Victoria. Arrest her again? Watch her walk away? Hold my arms out to her? Here Victoria. I'll bring the guilt and you bring the revenge and everything we do will be bitter. 

I had seen Stella and Ray come dangerously close to just that kind of courtship. Ray flinging one proposal after another at her while she shot them down with her acid based retorts. I remember Stella informing Ray that the likelihood of her trimming a tree with him was on a par with moonbeams shooting out of her arse. Really? What was he suppose to do with that bit of information? Look skyward, hopefully, on Christmas Eve and then drive over to her place if there was a light show? 

There seemed to be nothing more painful or irresistible than trying to win over someone who does not wish to be won over. But here is what gave me hope. Despite the distance and the damaged, disappointed people we had loved, despite our own failings, there we were, cleaning up after supper and then later sitting across from each other over a chess board, quietly playing to win. Despite the odds against it we were in each others company if only for one more day.

"Fraser. Hey, it's your move." He had removed his glasses and was squinting at me worriedly.

"I'm sorry, Ray. Woolgathering." I wished he would put the glasses back on but instead he tossed them onto an end table and stretched until his back popped.

"Ahh. We had a big day today and we need to get an early start tomorrow. We'll finish the game some other time. Let's get some sleep." I nodded my agreement but remained seated. Ray stood and leaned over me to rest his palm on my forehead and then my cheek. "No fever. You sure you're all right?" I stood up to alleviate some of his worry.

"I'm fine, Ray," and patted his arm as I passed him. "Let's retire." He barely suppressed a grin at my formality.

"OK. Let's." 

I awoke the next morning and still half asleep and still half hopeful, I flung my arm across the warm bundle next to me and heard a soft grunt that sounded familiar but somehow didn't feel right. I opened my eyes right before Dief, who had wedged himself between me and Ray, licked me with his long pink tongue from the bottom of my chin to my forehead in one efficient swipe. I rolled over onto my back, defeated.

As I got ready for the day ahead us I admonished myself not to be so possessive of Ray's company. I would not be the only one saying goodbye to him. It had been heartening to see Ray shift from a defensive posture of a boxer always ready to defend himself - except from the ones who could do him the most harm - to a more open one until, in effect, he was dancing with everyone. I wanted people to know the fierce, warm, funny man that I had been privy to and yet I missed my secret as if it had been mine to keep.

We had accepted an invitation to breakfast at Maggie's the day before and I had arranged a small surprise for Ray that I was eager for him to see. At such an early hour we came across only a few people who nodded hello and assured us that they would see us at Willa's and each time my mood thudded to the ground at even the gentlest reminder that Ray would be leaving. Ray, ever watchful, hooked his arm through mine as if he needed the support and not the other way around.

We were only a short distance from her cabin when I noticed that Maggie and Victor were sitting outside and that he was braiding her hair and saying something that made her bow her head and smile. Once he fastened the braid he brushed the ends of her hair across his cheek. Although the gesture appeared casual there was something so intensely intimate about it that I watched my feet sink into the shallow snow instead. Ray tightened his hold on my arm and sent Dief ahead of us.

I finally looked up to see Maggie and Victor standing apart, Maggie almost at attention, and yet they were so obviously a couple despite their stances. I could tell that Maggie was nervous and I felt some of that same nervousness shiver through me. We were adult siblings not at sure what the other would think about love being rediscovered this far down the road and in my case from such an unlikely and spirited source. I suddenly felt an eagerness to put her at ease, to express my approval if indeed she wanted it.

It would have to wait. Dief had quickly greeted Maggie and Victor and then bounded over to the kennel attached to the barn and joined the commotion that had begun there. Ray questioned me with a look and I couldn't help but smile at him. He grabbed my sleeve and shook it and then jogged off to join Dief. By the time Maggie, Victor and myself had reached the kennel the gate had been flung open and Ray was once again the center of attention of the team of dogs that had brought us to Inuvik.

"Samson! How are ya?"

Ray had kept a careful distance from the dogs since they had been moved to Maggie's outpost seemingly not wanting to expose himself to something he believed he couldn't have. They were to be returned to Buck but I had made arrangements to keep them at Maggie's and care for them myself in Ray's stead. For my own reasons, the dogs were a hungry, living reminder of our quest and of course, of Ray."

"Magdalena, where's Judas?"

Both Maggie and Victor looked at me with raised eyebrows. Ray was not calling them by the names on their collars.

I cleared my throat. "Ray renamed them on our quest." They nodded and turned back to Ray. 

Judas, upon hearing his name moved cautiously around the other dogs, head down, tail low and wagging hesitantly. Ray's favorite. He hooked an arm around his ruff and pulled him close.

"Hey Jude, don't let me down." 

Maggie and Victor looked to me again and I tried to convey to them the possibility that we might be there for a while. Judas seemed aware of the possibility, also. He sat down and leaned against Ray, his tail creating part of a snow angel as Ray spoke directly into his ear. I understood his contentment completely.

Maggie went inside to finish breakfast and Victor stayed with us while we regaled him with more stories about our adventure and sometimes our misadventures. Occasionally Victor would look towards the cabin and finally Ray and I took mercy on him and walked him back inside to join Maggie. 

She was setting the table and made shooing motions for us to sit. I remembered my wish to put her at ease, to wish her well and stood up again to join her at the silverware drawer. I put my arm around her and tugged one of her braids and then kissed her soundly on the forehead as Ray had taught me to do and then sat down quickly as if I had just completed a dare. Maggie stood motionless for a long moment and I was close to apologizing when Dief yipped for some bacon he had tracked from the stove to the table and the spell was broken. She distributed our silverware, picked up one of the bigger pieces of bacon and deftly tossed it to Dief. I believe Ray was impressed.

While we piled our plates she smiled at me in a way that reminded me of my mother even though it was our father that we shared. Family. 

I'm sure the meal was delicious but I hardly remember it. What I do remember is that while we were exchanging animated stories about each other there these quick as lightening looks and gestures flying high over the biscuits and bacon. Looks between Maggie and Victor that said, _yes_ and _soon_,however shyly. Ray tugged on my shirt when I spoke of the dogs and I felt, more than heard, his thanks. At another time when I could not stop myself from going on about one of my fathers exploits I caught a look from Ray that seemed to say, _I see you_, without even a hint of disappointment.

We helped Maggie clean up and too soon she had to head out to work - something I would soon have to address. She pinned her braids into a neat bun at the nape of her neck and for one jarring moment I caught a glimpse of myself putting on my own uniform as if I were a gladiator grooming myself to do battle against my own inclinations. More often than not, by my own choice, I had worn an unyielding uniform in a country where red serge does not remind the general public of the Queen but instead had brought them to a full and complete stop. I will probably never really know why Ray ignored all the signs of caution. 

I shook myself and Maggie mistook it for a shiver and bundled me up before she left with Victor. All this drifting was causing more alarm than was warranted and I was breaking out in a sweat because of it. Both Ray and Dief seemed amused as I found my way out from under too many layers.

Ray was eager, to say the least, about getting the dogs hooked up to a sled again and they seemed to pick up on his enthusiasm. We spent the day sledding along the long shore of Boot Lake. Without the weight of supplies to slow the dogs down we were literally airborne several times to Ray's great delight. Although it lacked the danger and immediacy of our quest it more than made up for it with the beauty of the lake and the sound of Ray laughing. 

Unable to stop, I was cataloging again. Filing away the funny huh-huh of his laugh or the way his hand felt patting me on the shoulder as if to say, thank you, thank you. Taking my turn, I sat in the sled and held on and leaned into the turns and let myself feel all the love I had for him. Admitted it to myself if not to him that I loved him, not at all symbolically, but wholeheartedly. I would keep this fact, this absolute fact, to myself but I would no longer deny or call it by another name. I would visit him in Chicago and make small talk just to see him and tag along when he would visit the dogs and I would love him. I would take him to the airport and wait with him for the plane that would take him home and away from me and I would love him. I would - I - I was shaking and sweating. All my tenderness and grief shoving my composure to the side.

We were in front of Maggie's barn and Ray was crouched in front of me, his cool hand on my cheek shocking me back into awareness. 

"I don't have a fever, Ray," I protested as I struggled to get up. 

"Go inside and get warm."

"I'm already overheated," even though the cooling sweat had left me chilled.

"Fraser - uh! You are so - ," and he growled and sputtered until we were both on our way back home.

I was standing under a hot shower - at Ray's insistence - when I realized that he had settled the dogs into the kennel and fed them and made sure that each one received a scratch or a pat but he did not say goodbye. He stepped out of the kennel as if he would see them the next day. I rationalized to myself that since he knew the dogs would be in the care of people he knew he no longer felt the angst of leaving them behind. 

Keeping Judas and the others at Maggie's was not an altogether altruistic effort on my part. I wanted to create as many reasons as possible for Ray to visit again. I knew that I would use any excuse to visit him in Chicago but I also wanted to see him here, standing under the long reach of the summer sun, wooing the dogs, bartering with Dief, grabbing my attention and affection with his sometimes circular speech - with the words that would not come to him and yet I always knew what he meant.

I came out of the shower to find Ray packing and abruptly turned around and went back into the bathroom as if I had forgotten something that would go with my towel. I hated - and hopelessly depended on - all the reminders that Ray was indeed leaving. It was too easy for me to believe my own wishful thinking, to operate from a hope that I barely whispered to myself that Ray and I were somehow inseparable. 

Both of us finished getting ready almost wordlessly and then made the short walk to Willa's in much the same way. Ray insisted that he wanted to hear me play guitar later on and carried it himself so that I couldn't "forget it." 

The diner fairly glowed out onto the street and we could hear the commotion from several doors down. I began to smile as we neared the door and Ray picked up on it and smiled back at me. When I opened the door for Ray and he stepped through it and there was a stadium-like cheer that was so palpable it felt like a wave had washed high over our heads. I believe Ray felt it, too. He faltered back a step until my hand rested between his shoulder blades as we walked into the throng of people. He was smiling and shaking. 

I wanted to step back and let him absorb all the warmth and affection that the crowd held for him but he would not allow it. With a tug on my sweater or a hand on my shoulder he herded me along wherever he went. Despite the number of people it looked as though the diner had been shut down. No orders were being taken, only a series of tables pushed together offered one dish after another, not unlike my own refrigerator. 

Maggie and Victor slowly excused themselves through what Ray called the "mosh pit" of the doorway and Maggie greeted Ray with a hug. He lifted her off her feet and then told her when he put her down, "Fraser likes to be hugged, too." Without hesitating she gave me a fierce hug, demonstrating some of the strength that hid in her slight frame. As soon as she let go of me the near silent Victor stepped up and hugged me just as diligently. Another much smaller wave of cheering washed up in our direction and wanting to be a good sport I leaned back and lifted Victor off his feet. He laughed along with the others but only let go after pounding me soundly on the back. Ray looked at me with a small smile and then nodded - I'm not sure at what.

We followed Dief's lead and sampled a little of everything laid out on the tables. I mmm'd and ahhh'd at all the appropriate times and even licked my fingers but I barely tasted the food. All my senses were now tilted towards Ray Kowalski and I had little appetite for anything else. Ray took part in conversations wholeheartedly and danced with anyone who asked but he continued to find his way back to me. I knew it was selfish to guard my time with him so jealously but I couldn't help what a sweet pang I felt when I would see him craning his neck over the crowd in search of me. 

Joseph made his way over to Ray and handed him four thick envelopes of photos. He refused any payment that Ray tried to give him. Ray gave him a hug and squeezed his shoulders. When Joseph told him a lot of the photos were really good Ray opened one envelope and thumbed through a few silently and then smiled at me. Quickly he opened all the envelopes and tucked the negatives into one that went into his back pocket and then he spread all the photos out until they covered an entire round table near the back of the diner. I stepped closer and smiled along with Ray. One camera used by several different photographers had given Ray a collection of photos - some posed, some candid - that were indeed beautiful. I pointed to a candid one of Willa walking Josie to school with Josie's arm hooked through her mother's. Both of them in profile, straight backed yet fluid. I commented to Ray, "It's hard to tell who's escorting who." He laughed and nodded his agreement.

Soon the table was surrounded and I was being nudged to the other side. There, I came across a photo that Victor had taken at his workshop Thursday. Ray had found a roll of white tape and wrapped a strip it around the nose piece of his glasses and then placed them on me. The photo was of the two of us standing side by side, Ray standing at attention with my stetson in the crook of his arm while I squinted through his taped up horn rimmed glasses. I held the photo up for Ray to see on the other side of the table and he smiled and told me, "That's for you, Fraser."

Suddenly unable to look at him I studied the photo again. "Thank you - thank you, kindly." Ray was jostled into another conversation and I quickly lost my place at the table. 

I followed the music into the back room and found a vacant spot on one of the sofas. No longer able to orbit directly around Ray I felt suddenly drained. Not even Joseph singing an old Cat Stevens song roused me. "Oh Very Young" came to an end then there was the clatter of silverware against glassware as people called to Ray to make a toast. Two men foisted him onto a chair until he stood over the herd of us. 

He cleared his throat and people shushed each other into silence. Finally, he looked out over us and shifted from foot to foot. "I - " and then he cleared his throat again. "Nothing in my life prepared me for the trip here." He looked down seeming to have run out of words.

Willa called out, "Nothing prepared us for you either, Ray." Everyone laughed and the feedback seemed to lift him. 

He raised his beer bottle and said, "It's been a great adventure. Thank you." And when his gaze found me he added, "Thank you, kindly." I drained my teacup. 

He hopped down off the chair with his usual grace, picked up my guitar case, walked past me and set it front of a stool by the cello. It was a request disguised as a challenge. I would have been unable to refuse either one.

I joined Joseph with his guitar and was only a little surprised when Victor sat down at the piano. People crowded around our small stage and we played songs, sometimes inexpertly, which only seemed to bring us more applause. Sometimes they would sing along. 

Ray had perched on the arm of a chair and I resorted to old habits of keeping him in sight even if only peripherally. Whenever I would look up he was looking at me and despite the number of people I was playing only for him.

It was getting late and requests were being called out for one last song. I turned around and made my own suggestion to Victor and Joseph and they nodded their agreement. I pretended to tune my guitar until I could swallow past the lump in my throat and then I began to sing an old Beatles song that I had always liked but suddenly had great personal meaning to me. I sang, "The long and winding road that leads to your door" and my voice almost gave out. There was no use trying to fight it and so I decided to put technical proficiency aside and sing with everything I had. After all, it _should_ be impossible to sing, "Why leave me here, let me know the way" without high emotions rewiring all my usual responses. By the time I got to the end of the song everyone, including Ray, was singing along, "Don't keep me waiting here, lead me to your door" and the sound was so sweet and tender that if someone had told me that I was singing along with angels I would have felt that I had every reason to believe them. For once the applause was well earned because it was for all of us.

Josie was the first one to say goodbye. She set the tone and pace by hugging Ray tightly and saying, "See you later" as if it were something easily accomplished and not at all hindered by distance. One person after another took him in their arms and assured him - and me - with their casualness that they would see him again. Later. I was buoyed by their optimism. The grief which had settled heavily on my chest eased a little and I was able to take more than a shallow breath. 

I must have fallen away from real time because when I looked up the diner was nearly empty and Ray was holding the door open for Omer to pass through. The table with photos was empty which made me check my stetson for my own picture. Ray came over and peered into my hat.

"Not your ordinary superheroes, huh?"

"No, Ray. Not at all."

Willa would not allow us to help clean up and so after Ray assured Maggie that we wanted to walk home both of us kissed Willa goodnight. I wanted to thank everyone for offering more than I had been able to; for showing Ray more than politeness, more than good intentions gone awry, more than a formal, handshaking gratitude. I offered Willa what I could. With Ray holding the door I went back to her and hugged her again and let her go reluctantly. 

Once outside, Ray walked beside me shoulder to shoulder. I caught him looking over at me twice before he finally spoke.

"Fraser, promise me that you'll keep going out. That you'll eat at Willa's and play music for everyone or hang out at Victor's and gossip with Joseph. Josie wants to learn how to play guitar just like you but she's too shy to ask you so you're going to have to suggest it, OK?" And then before I could agree to any of it, "Because you're a great guy, the best friend I've had - ever. The people here love you and it doesn't have anything to do with relocating a Russian submarine."

"Ray - "

"So don't isolate yourself up here in this isolated town. That's just…redundant, Fraser." I smiled down at my boots. "Yeah, Ray knows a big word but don't let that distract you. Promise me that you won't isolate yourself, promise me that you won't sink into yourself until your nothing but polite."

I looked down at Dief. "I think I'm being insulted." He snuffled and trotted ahead of us.

"And promise me that you'll talk to someone besides the wolf."

I would have promised him anything and gone to great lengths to keep those promises but I knew that if I answered quickly he would think that I had taken his admonishments lightly and that was not the case. He knew that when we met that I was already looking over the edge of a slippery slope into a life so unobtrusive that even in a red uniform I might have crashed under someone's radar unnoticed. 

I had come to depend on Ray's demands. As painful as it was to come so close to losing Ray I will always be grateful for the lessons I learned on a sinking ship. With water creeping up to his chin he remained fiercely himself, demanding respect and equality in our partnership, demanding that I listen to him. And when I finally did we were saved.

So, I took my time and when I said, "I promise," he knew I meant it. But there was more.

"Because I love you, Fraser." I lost my footing but quickly righted myself. He smiled. "I've loved you ever since that long day in the crypt when you told me I was pretty."

I scratched my eyebrow. "Ray, my friend, I don't recall using the word 'pretty'."

"You don't think I'm pretty?"

"I think your face is surfeit."

"Surfeit?"

"Yes."

"Spell it."

"S-u-r- " He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me gently until we both started to laugh and then he wrapped his arms around me. It began to snow. Large lazy flakes drifted down and then floated back up on the slightest breeze. He moved his chin from my collar bone and rested it on top of my shoulder.

"I've loved you ever since you blasted me out of a sinking ship with a fire extinguisher. Or the time I hit a home run after you coached me. Do you remember that?"

"I've seen the video."

"Or the time we stood on top of that mountain…"

"Yes…"

"That incredibly _steep_ mountain that we sledded down _right _into Frobisher's barbecue."

"Yes Ray, I remember." And at some point we had begun dancing. Nothing more than a lazy shuffling of feet, a walking embrace. It wasn't surprising. After all, we were singing our song. It's called, "Misadventure". The b-side is "Wildly Bizarre Ways".

I held on to his warmth and solidness and followed his lead. When he shifted a little I almost let go but he was only pulling me closer.

"Remember the time you gave me asylum?" I nodded into his shoulder. "Do you remember…do you remember when I lost it in front of Beth Botrell's house?"

I remembered how helpless and ineffectual I felt in the face of his guilt and grief, trying to keep him from flying apart with only my left hand skimming the nape of his neck and squeezing his shoulder. Being a witness to his pain had made me wince. A part of myself wanted to beg him to stop only because it proved to me once again that when it was really important, when the situation involved more than my willingness to risk my life, that I would find myself not at all up to the task.

"Fraser?" He sounded unsure and concerned and I wanted nothing more than to take that away but I could only tell him the truth which might not reassure him at all.

"I remember you saved her life." He tensed in my arms and so I raised one hand to cradle his neck and anchored my other arm around his ribs and held on like I should have - like I wanted to do on that very night. "I remember when you saved my life - and Quinn's - when you rode that motorcycle through the window. And while I don't wish to diminish those acts of heroism - " and here I felt him tense again, "which you made at great personal cost - I will always think of you as the friend who brought me home."

He leaned back far enough to kiss me twice on my temple and then told me, "You are so fucking sentimental," as if I was the one who had started it all.

"Understood."

Still dancing, he pushed me out, brought me back in and then spun me around once. Picking up my discarded guitar case he hooked his arm through mine and walked me home.

When we got there it was already 1:30 in the morning. Ray's plane was scheduled to leave at 9 and Maggie had offered to pick us up at 7 to take us to the airport. It would mean waking at 6 and according to my math that meant only 4 ½ hours of sleep or 4 ½ hours that we could talk, play chess, be in each others company. I was somewhat disappointed as Ray went through his nightly ablutions as if he were going directly to bed. I came into the bathroom to follow his lead and he was humming "The Long and Winding Road" hitting different notes as he brushed different parts of his mouth.

Still cold enough for long johns we crawled into bed and I turned out the light.

"Night, Frase."

"Goodnight, Ray."

Although I was far from being happy about Ray leaving I had come to the conclusion that our friendship had a better chance than most of surviving the distance between us. I believed that the love he had for me had a different kind of intensity than what I felt for him but it was still intense as only Ray Kowalski can be. The thought crossed my mind that distance might make it possible for me to someday look back on this time and think about how I use to love Ray and thought it would never fade away. How I would be grateful that I never said anything and risked our friendship because my inexperience with intimacy had led me to believe that I was in love instead of simply loving a good friend. But it was cold comfort. As awkward as my love for Ray could be I would miss the heat and hum of it.

The back of Ray's hand landed heavily on my shoulder. "Yes, Ray?"

"Are you going back to the RCMP?"

"I'm going to call them Monday to secure a start date." I knew it was as true as it was inevitable.

"You're a good cop - the best."

"Thank you, Ray."

"Just speaking from experience."

"Thank you, kindly."

"Hmm…'thank you kindly.' Gonna miss that." 

With his hand still resting on my shoulder his long fingers absently flicked my earlobe back and forth. And I would miss that. 

"Fraser?"

"Ah, yes, Ray?"

"Write that book about your adventures. I want to read it."

"I will. But Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"I've only had one adventure." He snorted at that and tugged my earlobe and then removed his hand. For a long moment I was bereft.

"Fraser?"

"Yes?"

"No matter how far apart we are we'll always be partners." Not a question but a declaration.

I rolled onto my side and kissed his temple and kept kissing him. I kissed his forehead and his temple again. His cheek, his cheek, the side of his nose, his cheek and when he turned his face towards me, his mouth. I'm not sure it was even a kiss. I was devouring his mouth, crying into it words I had said many times before but not with such desperate meaning: Ray and please, please. 

I am tempted to say that I would not have been able to stop, that all my unruly feelings for him were pouring out of me at a rate that shook me. And while that is true it is also true that if he had so much as hitched a breath or simply remained passive I would have left the bed and begged him for forgiveness until I was sure I had it. But to my own flustered amazement he put his arms around me and met me with a force to match my own until at times it seemed as if we were fighting and growling to get to each other. 

Long johns were ripped at and discarded to the foot of the bed or somewhere over the side. All that hidden strength made itself known as he rolled on top me. His weight, the different textures of his skin left me astonished. The slight stubble on his jaw sensitized my mouth, his tattoo was softer than the skin of his neck, strong muscles moved just under the back of his thighs, callused hands roamed and pushed and kneaded my long dormant body back to life. There were times that I was sure I was breathing through every pore of my body. I heard myself gasp and sometimes it sounded like a sob. Ray would kiss me and kiss me until I could only gasp for air.

His touch was a balm to me and yet I also felt intense moments of panic throughout those morning hours. Ray showed himself to be an invasive lover. There seemed to be no part of my body that did not hold a facination for his hands or his mouth. There was no place for me to remain reserved. He was over me and in me.

I tried to tell him that no one had ever touched me like this, that I didn't know that it was possible but all I got out was, "No one, no one…" He seemed to understand and shushed me and pushed deeper. My blood trembled in my arms and legs and then flooded the center of my body where Ray was deep inside of me. I called out to him and he calmed me with chaste kisses to my face and a lingering one over my pounding heart even as he eased in and out of me. His breath quickened, my skin stung. It was too much.

I writhed under his touch trying to get closer, trying to get away. An old panic, cruel on the way out, made me want to bring Ray to his climax only so it would end and I could step away. The intimacy, the smell and taste of him, the weight of his body was tearing me apart. I was being undone and remade under his touch and determination. I would not recognize myself in the shaving mirror.

I made one last attempt to lift my heavy limbs away from him and only managed a long groan. I watched him come. The sight of it tore me apart. All my fear and grudges, all my facades and posturing - confetti.

It took all my strength to lightly scratch the hair at the nape of his neck where it was hot and soft and wet. I wanted only to tell him how much I loved him but I could not catch my breath. He rested his rough cheek on my shoulder and ran the back of his fingers across my cheek and then brushed his thumb by the corner of my eye. Finally, I whispered past the lump in my throat that I loved him. He moved his mouth to my ear and called me a fucker the way most people call each other honey or sweetheart. He kissed my face loudly until I began to smile. Rejuvenated, I rolled him on to his back and we began again.

Slower, with a lazy rhythm we kissed and touched. His body tangled with mine. We made each other laugh. He brought our joined hands to his mouth and ended up kissing his own and I laughed until he took mine and kissed my palm as if he were praying to it. 

Suddenly he was moving away from me, kissing my stomach, my hip, my thigh, my knee as he slid off the bed. He whispered, "I have to see you," and when I reached for the lamp he squeezed my foot. "No, no. Just give me a minute, OK? OK?"

"OK."

It was not easy waiting for him in the dark. My sense of disbelief was trying to creep up on me and cover my nudity. There seemed to be no good reason why I was given something that so greatly exceeded all my expectations. It would have been so easy to simply pull up the covers and call these morning hours a hallucination, not unlike seeing the ghosts of my parents.

I was saved from my own treacherous logic when I heard Ray admonish Dief to stop looking at him. He came back into the bedroom with an armful of candles. I raised up to get out of bed and help him put the candles back in the cupboard.

"No, no, don't get up. Let me do this, all right?"

I nodded, unable to speak. He had no way of knowing and I no longer wished to tell him that I had been in a candle lit room twice before: once with Victoria and the last time at a candle lit vigil while I waited in vain for her return with the ghost of my dad. 

I watched him light one candle and then use that one to light another until very slowly he became less of a shadow and seemed to glow along with the flames he was setting all about the room. The flickering light continued to remind me of Victoria but when Ray crawled onto the foot of the bed wearing nothing but his taped up glasses all comparisons were off.

He knelt at my feet and tugged at the sheet that I had pulled up to my waist. "Let me see you," he whispered and unable to refuse him anything I let go of the cover. He pulled it slowly over my sex and then down over my legs until I was completely exposed. I laid back down and watched him looking at me and then he asked, "Do you know what you do to me?"

I felt drunk and tender. I was shaking. "I have some idea." I let my arm fall to the side, an invitation to cover me and I was grateful again when he took it.

Later, when I was inside of him I removed his fogged up glasses and made the mistake of looking at the clock when I set them on the bedside table. It was 5:32.

Ray cupped my face in his hands and turned me to face him. "Oh no-no-no. That's just time. Doesn't mean a thing. I can feel you, Fraser. That's all that matters. You and me, you and me, you in me. God, Fraser…"

When the alarm went off we took our time getting out of bed.

A hot shower became just another place to continue what we had started hours before. I could not get enough of kissing him and came when he fluttered his tongue in my mouth. We held each other up and didn't stop until the water ran cold.

When Maggie knocked on the door promptly at 7 I was literally sitting cradled between his legs kissing the round top of his ear. I let my forehead rest against his temple for a moment and then called out to the door in a surprisingly normal voice, "Just a minute, Maggie," and then we kissed one more time as if trying to memorize the shape and taste of each others mouths.

With an effort I pulled myself away from him and answered the door while Ray gathered up his duffle bag. Maggie stepped forward into the apartment and then faltered for the barest moment when she took in the sight of us. What must we have looked like all freshly scrubbed and bruised by each others affection? Even without touching we were so thoroughly connected to one another that we might as well have been braiding each others hair.

When we got down to the jeep I saw Maggie throw Victor a look which he caught and turned into a mumbled, laughing "Good morning" and a hearty pat on the back for Ray. Ray smiled down at his feet and then bumped my shoulder with his own which I found surprisingly reassuring. We climbed into the back where Dief had decided to sit between us. At first I was somewhat disgruntled with Dief's intrusion but once we were on the highway to the airport Ray settled his hand into Dief's ruff and not long after I put my hand on Ray's. No matter how far apart we were we would always be a pack.

Soon enough we were nearing the airport. An occasional small cargo plane would buzz overhead and fly ahead of us bringing in all the essential imports that make it possible for Inuvik to exist. 

As we came to a stop I entwined my fingers with Ray's along with Dief's soft wool. He squeezed my hand but when I looked at him his gaze was fixed straight ahead. While his touch was reassuring I already missed his mutable stare. His hand slipped from mine as he quickly pulled his bag from the jeep and ensconced himself between Maggie and Victor, his back to me. I was unable to hop out of the jeep as Ray had and instead lifted one heavy leg after another and pushed as if I had just learned to walk the day before.

I walked behind them, only catching up when Victor held the door open for all of us. All the knowing, teasing looks had disappeared to be replaced by quick, pained glances. I watched passively as Ray checked in his duffle bag and received his boarding pass. The sign by the boarding gate confidently announced that Ray's flight was on schedule. He would be leaving in 45 minutes. I swallowed hard and made a show of finding us seats since I had been remiss with the door.

The chairs were a durable hard plastic reminding me of sea shells washed up on a beach. The seats were surprisingly deep and apparently tilted back because all four of us slid into the pocket of our chairs whether we wanted to or not. While Ray seemed unable to look at me I seemed unable to do little else. I was cognizant enough to not want to make Ray more ill at ease and so I sat next to him to keep from staring outright.

Across from us, Maggie and Victor made small talk and I participated out politeness and habit but I cannot recall a single word any of us said. Instead I smiled and spoke when it was appropriate and from the corner of my eye watched Ray's hand rise and fall on his thigh as he spoke. I smiled to myself. I knew what the palm of his hand tasted like. I remembered what the hard earned calluses felt like on my skin and how absolutely sweet it was to kiss the long life line that reached across his entire hand. If I looked closely would I recognize myself on that telling line? Would I be some wrinkle or whorl that ran across it as it continued on or could I be one of the reasons it ran so deep?

Dief, almost shyly, without his usual sense of entitlement, rested his muzzle on Ray's knee. Ray scratched him behind the ears and then when he didn't move he began stroking the short hairs just behind Dief's wet nose with his curved thumb. He began talking to Dief in a low confidential voice that made all of us quieter as we watched the effect they had on each other. Dief began to blink slowly and then finally closed his eyes as Ray kept talking. All the while Dief made small grunting and snuffling noises in agreement or in shared memory. 

Ray's words finally sunk in. He was remembering our adventure. The cold unlike any Chicago winter and traveling so far and never seeing a set of footprints other than our own, feeling like we were the last living creatures on earth until I pointed out a polar bear or seals or a herd of caribou. He spoke of how proud he was of Dief leading us as if all our steering and commands were nothing more than the background noise of a backseat driver.

Ray was interrupted when his flight was called. I stood up as if a start gun had been fired. Ray ignored it or was used to me snapping to attention and took Dief gently by the ear and whispered, "I always knew you could hear me." Dief wagged his tail absently as if he had been caught at a misdeed but didn't mind.

Ray stood and opened his arms wide and Maggie stepped into his embrace. She peered over his shoulder and as soon as I looked at her her gaze dropped and I knew she was crying. Ray squeezed her to him and then danced her over to Victor. When he let her go she was smiling. Ray's flight number was called again. He hugged Victor with no less attention but without the dance steps and I heard Victor call him "brother" right before he let him go.

Finally, Ray looked at me. While I had been shifting my weight from one foot to another, impatiently waiting my turn to hold him, at that moment I wanted nothing to do with it because it would be a hug goodbye. He stepped toward me and I flinched just enough to come up against the immovable chairs. He stopped as if he were trying to calm a wild animal and then advanced again and wrapped his arms around my neck and back. There was no escape, nothing left to do except to meet this farewell. I wrapped my arms around him. 

I started to reassure myself that he would not be that far away and that we were both willing and capable of making the long journey to each others homes but I didn't get very far. I was so tired of downsizing my expectations until I was left with nothing but frustration. I was becoming brittle with it. 

The last call for his flight was made. Too late. Everything was in motion for us to part. I squeezed him one last time and was about to let him go when he spoke into my ear, "I'm not afraid anymore. I belong to you." I held on and I waited for him to make the slightest move away from me but he didn't. I held on and saw Dief trot off with Ray's boarding pass that he must of handed to him. Maggie smiled through her tears and then wrapped her own arms around Victor's neck. 

The gateway was roped off and abandoned and still we held on to each other. I felt his body shake and although I could not hear him laugh I was sure he was doing just that. My own joy bubbled in my chest and soon I was sighing into his ear. We had challenged the world to call one of us from the other and had remained belly to belly, in each others arms, his chin burrowed into my neck.

****

End of From Afar

Story Notes: Of course this story started off as something else. I imagined Fraser sitting in an airport lounge calling on all of his logical resources in an effort to make peace with the fact that Ray is leaving on the next plane. It would take three pages - five tops - if I really pushed myself and used a large font. Thirty pages later they're sledding around Boot Lake and are nowhere near the bedroom. I understand that this is not uncommon. 

When I finally did finish it I sat on the steps of my apartment in the wee hours of the morning wishing that I had taken up smoking as a salute to CKR and Paul Gross and because it was a perfect moment for a smoke. Instead, I drank a Dr. Pepper and ran back inside when the sprinklers started to malfunction.

The character of Fraser is fascinating to me. Behind the bland pretty and polite façade is someone who lives so deeply in his own head that he's not even completely up to date with how many walls Ray has actually kicked down or how many he has dismantled on his own. As for Ray, he has always struck me as an otherwise fierce creature who nonetheless cannot love someone from afar and so he manhandles and dances with Fraser until there is no such thing as personal space. When they finally do make love it's not all that different from what has preceded it. It is my hope to convey some sense of the fact that they had been loving each other all along.

Music was an unfailing inspiration throughout. The songs that Fraser refers to or sings are:

Yellow Ledbetter by Pearl Jam

Lonely Stranger by Eric Clapton

The Long and Winding Road by The Beatles

Joseph sings:

My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys by Willie Nelson

Oh Very Young by Cat Stevens

The title is borrowed from a Stevie Nicks song called "Beauty and the Beast" that goes, "I'm old enough to love you from afar" which is really just a lot of wishful thinking because none of us are that evolved.

The quote is borrowed from the film "A Thin Red Line" which is a war movie filled with prayers and poetry.

Writing this story was exhausting, frustrating and ultimately an uplifting experience. Please forgive all my mistakes. I have a great affection for fellow readers and so I thank you for reading this.

TrueEnough

trueenough@msn.com

****


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